


of locks and rain

by planetes



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, izaya's a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 15:18:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6244879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/planetes/pseuds/planetes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the board, there are no pawns, no king, no queen; there are keys. Randomly shaped, bright keys that stand out in the room with each lightning the heavens grant this evening. He eyes them as if curious, trying to find answers to a quiz he has made himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	of locks and rain

Laughter echoes through the empty apartment. Lightning reflects on the windows, thunders soon following. But the sounds – the pouring rain outside, the lights that seemed to carry a message: _the Gods are angry tonight_ , and even his own voice – they wouldn’t reach him.

Not his ears–

Because his plan is perfect.

Not his brain–

Because he’s untouchable.

Not his heart–

 _Because_ –

A louder thunder echoes this time, as if screaming for his attention.

“What is it?” he asks in return. “I’m busy, so try not to bother me.”

A chessboard on his lap, shaking slightly due to his own shaking, because he’s giggling and sometimes he’s laughing and then he stops. He then starts again. Because _he’ll never stop_.

On the board, there are no pawns, no king, no queen; there are keys. Randomly shaped, bright keys that stand out in the room with each lightning the heavens grant this evening. He eyes them as if curious, trying to find answers to a quiz he has made himself.

“People are keys,” he whispers, staring at the objects. “More than one can lead to the same place,” he passes his fingers through one, analyzing it carefully. “Others are unique. They can lead to only one door and no other can do the same.”

He stares at a larger golden key in the middle of the wooden piece, grabbing it and bringing it closer to his eyes.

“Some are made defective.”

Izaya kisses the metal for a moment, before giggling once again. He lets the key fall back on the board from his hands before pushing the whole set to the side, all of it falling next to him on the couch.

He’s giggling and laughing and the sound won’t reach him because he will never stop – he can never stop.

Another lightning and the dark apartment goes darker; all sources of light disappearing at once. But just as the brightness leaves, his voice grows louder, echoing through the room and maybe the building and maybe the Earth itself.

If Izaya didn’t laugh at it, he thinks just as he tries not to but not thinking was never something he learnt to do or had someone teach him–

Even when he tried–

_He would make another disgusting sound._

No power means no heating and soon he finds the temperature decreasing as his arms reflexively hold each other because it’s not terribly cold; but it soon will be. He grows silent, feeling as if the weather has interrupted him. Not the loud rain and thunder, but the cold place they forced on him.

Izaya gets up, trying to walk through the dark. Tokyo is still so bright, the lightning is so bright. And yet, he suddenly finds it difficult to walk. His eyes see perfectly – or do they? – but he is suddenly unable to process everything around him. Words like protection, warmth, love – love? – and loneliness.

They all fill his mind.

He tries to shut them out, he tries _so bad._

Danger and life and beginnings and forgiveness and mistakes and a heart–

A heart shattering _again_ and again _and again_ and again _and again_ and again _and again_ and again _and again_ and again _and again_ –

“I don’t–!”

The shadow tries to lie and walk on the same time, finding it impossible to do as he falls.

God, he falls.

He feels pain but doesn’t at the same time. _Pathetic,_ he thinks as it’s the first thing that comes to his mind. But it’s fine, because falling isn’t fine but he’s used to it and he isn’t fine but – what?

What is he trying to think in the middle of this tempestuous, cursed night?

Izaya lets out a sound that is no way close to a giggle and he hates himself for it.

Because this one honest, quiet, simple sound–

_It reaches him._

Not finding strength to get up, he focuses on the pain on his hip and head; on the coldness of the floor; lets the rain’s loudness cloud his mind finally.

“I’m not a key,” he mutters to no one in particular, not even to himself. His voice just talks on his behalf. It speaks, even if just a little, what his complex self never admits.

_Because–_

“Because–“

He notices he’s trembling from the cold, reflexively bringing his limbs closer to his chest. His hands are clenched weakly into fists, silver rings shining in the dark. He feels sleep arriving, but it feels more like passing out. Like he’s been refusing to do for so long, dreams are forcing themselves into him. This time he doesn’t complain because that way – and only that way – he can not think.

_I don’t lead anywhere._

His eyelids close as his lips move in a soundless whisper.

“I’m a God.”

* * *

 “Fuck,” is the first thing that leaves the blond’s mouth as he closes the door behind him.

He barely has time to process the mess of a chessboard and keys on the sofa as he rushes to the man on the ground. He shakes the body, trying to awaken him to no avail.

Izaya’s breathing heavily through his mouth, shaking uncontrollably. Shizuo curses, lifting him up and carrying him over to the man’s bedroom, placing him carefully on the bed.

“Goddamit,” he curses again, putting his palm on the man’s head to confirm his guess. “You’re burning up. Did you faint or something?!” the blond asks to the air in an angry tone; not quite angry at the brunet, but at the situation itself.

 _You can do this_ , he thinks, trying to calm himself down. _You’ve taken care of Kasuka before._

He gets as many blankets as he can and covers the man up to his neck, trying to remember what he should do next. He then heads to the bathroom, grabbing a towel and wetting it completely before coming back.

Shizuo sits on the bed next to him, gently pressing the fabric on Izaya’s face and neck. The brunet was sweating cold, panting in his sleep.

When he’s done, he brushes his bangs off his forehead and stares at him.

He bites his lip because Izaya – _his Izaya_ – seems to be in so much pain.

But suddenly dark scarlet eyes open, ever so slowly, and meet his own.

“Izaya–“

“Dark,” he says in a barely audible tone. “Cold.”

Izaya forces himself to sit up, still breathing with difficulty. He pants, hands clenching the sheets beneath him as he feels incredibly weak.

“Wait, you gotta rest,” Shizuo places his hands on the man’s shoulders, but before he can push him down, the brunet turns his glance to him.

“Shizu-chan,” he says a bit louder, hand being brought to the other’s arm, grasping it as tightly as he can. “Shizu-chan.”

“Y-yeah,” he replies, suddenly  nervous. “I’m here, Izaya.”

Izaya’s blank stare travels from hazel orbs to a tan neck, lowering until it stops at his torso. He quickly shifts closer and leans into him, arms wrapping around the man.

Shizuo’s perplexed, not sure of what to do. He can see Izaya is out of it, probably due to his high fever. He feels the desperate, hot, unsteady breathing on his neck, the trembling hands clenching into his shirt.

The blond envolves him into an embrace, caressing his back.

“What happened?” he hears himself question aloud, never having seen the man in such a state before.

“I,” the brunet begins. “Wanted warmth. But there was none.”

“But you were on the floor,” Shizuo said.

Izaya breathed in deeply. “Dark and cold.”

The former bartender feels a sting in his chest. He can sense it isn’t just about a fever, and every word seems to pierce through him. He has to stop himself from holding the body in his arms more tightly, afraid to worsen his breathing.

“I have to–“ Shizuo gulps, cutting himself off on accident. “Prepare you something to eat.”

He feels the hands tighten their hold on him.

“Don’t,” Izaya says faintly. “It’s warm.”

Shizuo knows he should pull the man away. Force him to lie down as he prepares a meal; wait for his fever to go down and try to shower with him.

But somehow he feels he should wait.

_Just a little bit more._

Until he calms down.

_Until he feels safe._

Until–

Shizuo leans down until the brunet is in a lying position and lets go of him, quickly pulling the blankets up to cover him again. Izaya motions to protest, but the blond holds him in place, staring at him. “You’ve only done whatever you wanted up until now. Even when it hurt you,” he says, leaning down enough to plant a kiss on the man’s forehead.

“I’ll stop you today. And I’ll keep trying tomorrow,” he finishes, sitting up.

Izaya can only stare at him as his vision begins to blur.

_Life and warmth and love and a heart._

“Gods...”

“Hm?” Shizuo lets out, looking at him.

“Can gods,” Izaya begins, trying to steady his breathing. “Be cold?”

The blond stares at him for a few seconds, holding his hand.

“I dunno,” he replies then. “But gods are made after humans, right? Or most are at least,” he scratches the back of his neck, taken aback by such question. “I think so. I’ve always thought gods were selfish. There wouldn’t be warmth if they didn’t feel cold.”

Izaya can only smile at him in return, startling the blond.

“Shizu-chan always surprises me,” he says in a quiet tone.

Shizuo smiles back, watching as the brunet’s eyes close and he drifts back into sleep. He pulls the covers up once more, heading out of the room to cook something.

Only then does he fully take notice of the messy couch. He approaches it and stares at the chessboard with no chess pieces around. The keys are scattered around it, a large, golden one standing out. He grabs it and brings it closer to his face, trying to analyze it and see if it had any purpose.

“Yeah,” he says after a while. “You’re crazy.”

He can’t help but smile at the key as he carefully puts it down.

 _Maybe_ , he thought, _just maybe_ –

_People are keys to each other._

**Author's Note:**

> hii it's late but here i am with another oneshot of these two. trying to get into izaya's head makes me a mess, that's for sure. i hope you like it, thank you for reading!


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